BEWARE OF FLYING DUMB BELLS
Each time I walk through the doorway of the gym at PT, I hold out hope ... hope that Caleb the Gym Guy has somehow entangled himself in the traction machine, thus rendering himself incapable of barking orders at me like I'm some animal to be trained and then, generally, ignoring me rudely.
"Just get started on something you know how to do ... don't wait for me," he snapped at me the other day as he walked past me, my chart in his hand. I fought the desire to trip him with the leg band and instead tried to smile sweetly at him. I've been trying for the entire four weeks I've been going to physical therapy to get him to smile. He refuses!
Oh, he's willing to yuck it up with the high school jocks that come in droves. He has loads of time for these prepubescent walking pimples that don't even dress well! However, me and the guy with the hip replacement need a bit of TLC too ... at the very least, a smile in our general direction -- and I smell good most days. But all we really get are grunts, growls, and general grousing.
Wednesday, Caleb had used his last "pissy" chip. If he growled one more time at me, I decided I was going to lob a 5 pound dumb bell at his head and then plead "didn't know my own strength" later when he came to. I feel fairly certain I could have taken him down.
He'd walked by and said impatiently, "have you done your quarter lunges yet?"
My body wanted to scream, "Not yet, but could we talk about the fact that you need to reconsider pleated khakis?"
Instead, I just shook my head and relished in the loud crack the dumb bell would make against his hateful head. I thought to myself, "oh cut the poor guy some slack. It's got to be murder staring at yourself in the mirror all day and replaying some athletic prowess from the glory days over and over in your head. Perhaps if you just compliment a muscle group????"
On my drive back from Lexington today, I talked to my Michigan buddy, Carrie. Her solution was to tell him he was acting like a ... well, like a part of the male anatomy that generally most men think with anyway.
"I'm not sure I should lead off with that, Carrie. Sure wish you were there with me, though. You could do my dirty work."
"Listen, Meg. You're paying good money for this service. Let him know he's being a jerk, and if that doesn't help, talk to his supervisor."
She was right, of course, so as I made my way down the hallway to the gym, I decided I'd let him know how I felt. I was going to lead off with, "You know, Caleb, it wouldn't hurt you to smile every now and again." If that didn't work, then I would use Carrie's first suggestion as a backup plan.
So, following his barked instructions of Wednesday, I busied myself doing the exercises I already knew how to do ... my Four-Ways. I stuck my foot through the hole in the leg band and commenced to doing the exercise ... wrong.
Caleb came by and said, gently, mind you, "Okay, you need to move that right foot out in front of the band."
The snarky comment was on the tip of my tongue, and then ABORT, ABORT, ABORT. Something told me to be slightly flirty with him.
"Would it be considered cheating to do it my way?"
And then something happened, ladies and gentlemen, something remarkable. Caleb smiled ... and not just that. He laughed. "Well, yeah, it's cheating just a little bit."
Hmm ... as he walked away, I thought to myself, "this is a new tactic. I need to test this further."
"I need to do my lats and the total gym," I mentioned this to Caleb as he jotted some notes on another person's charts later one.
"Umm, no. First I want to teach you this new thing."
He walked me over to the other side the gym, grabbed a leg band, and proceeded to tie my legs together so I could do some hip extensions. "See, now you can't run away from me."
"Like this was ever an option?" And I actually batted some eyelashes ... that only works on my dad!
But guess what? He laughed again!
I'm not entirely sure, but I think Gym Guy might just have redeemed himself.
I'm not completely abandoning the dumb bell idea, but I'm setting them down for the moment.
"Just get started on something you know how to do ... don't wait for me," he snapped at me the other day as he walked past me, my chart in his hand. I fought the desire to trip him with the leg band and instead tried to smile sweetly at him. I've been trying for the entire four weeks I've been going to physical therapy to get him to smile. He refuses!
Oh, he's willing to yuck it up with the high school jocks that come in droves. He has loads of time for these prepubescent walking pimples that don't even dress well! However, me and the guy with the hip replacement need a bit of TLC too ... at the very least, a smile in our general direction -- and I smell good most days. But all we really get are grunts, growls, and general grousing.
Wednesday, Caleb had used his last "pissy" chip. If he growled one more time at me, I decided I was going to lob a 5 pound dumb bell at his head and then plead "didn't know my own strength" later when he came to. I feel fairly certain I could have taken him down.
He'd walked by and said impatiently, "have you done your quarter lunges yet?"
My body wanted to scream, "Not yet, but could we talk about the fact that you need to reconsider pleated khakis?"
Instead, I just shook my head and relished in the loud crack the dumb bell would make against his hateful head. I thought to myself, "oh cut the poor guy some slack. It's got to be murder staring at yourself in the mirror all day and replaying some athletic prowess from the glory days over and over in your head. Perhaps if you just compliment a muscle group????"
On my drive back from Lexington today, I talked to my Michigan buddy, Carrie. Her solution was to tell him he was acting like a ... well, like a part of the male anatomy that generally most men think with anyway.
"I'm not sure I should lead off with that, Carrie. Sure wish you were there with me, though. You could do my dirty work."
"Listen, Meg. You're paying good money for this service. Let him know he's being a jerk, and if that doesn't help, talk to his supervisor."
She was right, of course, so as I made my way down the hallway to the gym, I decided I'd let him know how I felt. I was going to lead off with, "You know, Caleb, it wouldn't hurt you to smile every now and again." If that didn't work, then I would use Carrie's first suggestion as a backup plan.
So, following his barked instructions of Wednesday, I busied myself doing the exercises I already knew how to do ... my Four-Ways. I stuck my foot through the hole in the leg band and commenced to doing the exercise ... wrong.
Caleb came by and said, gently, mind you, "Okay, you need to move that right foot out in front of the band."
The snarky comment was on the tip of my tongue, and then ABORT, ABORT, ABORT. Something told me to be slightly flirty with him.
"Would it be considered cheating to do it my way?"
And then something happened, ladies and gentlemen, something remarkable. Caleb smiled ... and not just that. He laughed. "Well, yeah, it's cheating just a little bit."
Hmm ... as he walked away, I thought to myself, "this is a new tactic. I need to test this further."
"I need to do my lats and the total gym," I mentioned this to Caleb as he jotted some notes on another person's charts later one.
"Umm, no. First I want to teach you this new thing."
He walked me over to the other side the gym, grabbed a leg band, and proceeded to tie my legs together so I could do some hip extensions. "See, now you can't run away from me."
"Like this was ever an option?" And I actually batted some eyelashes ... that only works on my dad!
But guess what? He laughed again!
I'm not entirely sure, but I think Gym Guy might just have redeemed himself.
I'm not completely abandoning the dumb bell idea, but I'm setting them down for the moment.
Comments
And your mom is right but when all else fails I like the sarcasm! =)